


Slip

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the slashthedrabble prompt "past prompts." The one I chose is “slip.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I’m not bad . . . I’m just drawn that way.

“You’re forgetting something, my dearest.”  
  
Arthur pulls on his suit-coat and turns to look at his nude, lazily-smirking lover. Eames looks well-fucked and utterly content, lounging in his habitually disheveled bed.  
  
For a long,  _long_  moment, Arthur’s tempted to say  _fuck the job_ , and just get back in bed.  
  
 _Tempted_ , anyway.  
  
“I’m a Pointman: I never forget anything,” he replies, only for Eames to roll his eyes.  
  
“Is that so, darling? Then what’ve I got in my hand?”  
  
Scanning Eames perfunctorily, eyes finally settling at crotch-level, Arthur snorts. “Is that a trick question?”  
  
Eames laughs, but doesn’t stop stroking himself. “The  _other_  hand, my petal.” He holds out his closed right hand. “Guess what I’ve got.”  
  
“Other than my heart? I couldn’t imagine,” slips out, earnest and mortifying. Arthur’s face flares into an uncomfortable blush and he’s  _tempted_  to look away.  
  
But he doesn’t and Eames, for his part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Come on, be serious, darling. It’s small, shiny, and comes in pairs.”  
  
“My pearl earrings?” Arthur deadpans.  
  
“Tosser.”  
  
“Other than your salad what, exactly, do I toss?” Arthur sits on the bed. Eames instantly crowds closer, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and pulling him in for a lewd kiss.  
  
“If you’re not going to be serious, I’ll let you leave without them, and  _then_  where will you be?” he breathes,  _hmm_ -ing when Arthur nibbles his lower lip before possessing his mouth again. And again.  
  
And  _again_.  
  
“I literally can’t imagine what I could’ve forgotten that’s small enough . . . wait, is it my back-up flash drives?”  
  
Another laugh, low and sultry. “Think smaller, slightly less vital.”  
  
“My rental car keys?”  
  
“Oh, but you’re so  _bad_  at this.” Eames licks and pecks his way out of the kiss and sits back. He holds up his open hand and on his palm rests an unfamiliar pair of keys.  
  
After giving Arthur a few seconds to wonder, Eames reaches into Arthur’s vest, and deposits the keys in his shirt pocket without ever breaking gazes. His hazel eyes and suddenly nervous smile are completely unguarded.  
  
“Can’t have you sat on my doorstep like a lost puppy when I'm not here, can I?” He rests his hand on Arthur’s chest, pressing firmly on the keys till they’re warm; till the shape of them is practically branded into Arthur’s skin.  
  
“I—that’s—these—to your flat?” Arthur stammers, and Eames’s nervous smile turns wry and amused. He nods once, his lips twitching. “That’s—th-thank you, Eames.”  
  
“You’re very welcome . . . oh, wait—“ Eames adjusts Arthur’s tie minutely. “There.  _Now_  you’re perfectly pulled together, my love,” he says almost breathlessly, lashes shuttering his gaze. Then his arms are sliding around Arthur’s neck once more and he pulls a still-stunned, but entirely willing Arthur down on top of him. “And with just enough time for me to make you thoroughly late for your flight.”  
  
This time, Arthur’s the one who smiles. He can feel the warm weight of the keys resting over his heart. “Oh, well. There’s always the next one.”


End file.
